


Puttin' On Lotion! / Sittin' By the Ocean!

by DoreyG



Category: DCU
Genre: Beach Episode, Community: trope_bingo, Day At The Beach, Dead Robins Club, Desert Island, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s got everything you wanted. Sun, sand, a tropical theme…”</p>
<p>“We’re on a desert island.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puttin' On Lotion! / Sittin' By the Ocean!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likewinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/gifts).



> Written for Likewinning on LJ, who prompted "Damian, Jason and Steph trapped on a desert island (dead Robins club ftw :3)". Also written for the "Day at the Beach" square on my Trope_Bingo, because I realized that I could combine the two!

"Okay,” she says, trying her _very_ hardest to keep calm, “I know that I said we needed a holiday, a trip to cement our little club and make us all ever so close and whatnot. But when I said _that_ I didn’t mean _this_.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asks lazily, sprawled out on his back with his hat over his eyes – lazy, obnoxious, deserving of a good _kicking_ if this was an alternate universe where she had absolutely no regard for her ankles whatsoever, “it’s got everything you wanted. Sun, sand, a tropical theme…”

“We’re on a desert island.”

“We could even make _cocktails_.”

“ _Jason_ ,” she bites her lip, counts to ten very slowly and manages to make it up to about five before she has to give it up as a lost cause and settle for vibrating wrathfully in his general direction, “Point one, Damian is _ten_ and thus far too young for that. Point two, _we are on a desert island_.”

Jason doesn’t even bother to look at her, that’s the most annoying thing. She steps her angry vibrating up a notch, just to see if it’ll have any effect, “come on, did you wait until legal age before you started drinking?”

“I wasn’t _eleven years under_ the legal age,” she offers through gritted teeth, and crosses her arms snugly over her chest – the better to vibrate with, if she does say so herself, “and that’s not even the main point-!”

“Then why did you put it first?”

“ _We are on a desert island, Jason_!” She takes in a deep breath, shakes her head. She’s pretty sure that her angry vibrating is starting to disturb the sand underneath her feet – that’s something, even if Jason is still wilfully oblivious about the whole thing, “and so I’m sorry that my point by point structure is not quite up to your exacting standards! We are on a _desert island_. We are _miles_ from civilisation. I’m a bit more focused on the fact that this is not the holiday that I expected, or the one I wanted!”

“Calm down,” Jason actually _orders_ , and she catches her foot at the _very_ last moment, “I know it’s a little out of the ordinary, but-“

“Don’t you _dare_ repeat yourself,” she spits, and draws her foot back jerkily – has to remind herself, at _length_ , of all the reasons why starting a fight with Jason is probably not a good idea. Tim’s puppy dog eyes, bless him, are surprisingly close to the top of the list, “I was talking sunbathing sun, not boiling sun. Golden sand, not pebbles and seaweed masquerading as such. Tacky drinks served out of coconuts, not actual coconut trees that look like they could fall on us at any moment!”

“Steph!”

“It feels like it’s about to monsoon!” She snaps, perhaps a bit shriekily, and takes _great_ pleasure in how Jason jerks back – raises his hands in just _slightly_ terrified surrender, “holidays shouldn’t contain _monsoons_!”

…There’s a long pause.

Jason subtly shifts a few inches away from her, gently clears his throat. She glares him down, takes a certain pleasure in the way that his skin seems a few shades paler than usual “…Look. I am willing to admit that _maybe_ this didn’t go exactly as planned.”

She snorts, _pointedly_.

“Or at all as planned,” Jason mumbles, actually managing to look guilty – probably just for show, because he’s an asshole like that, but she’ll take what she can get, “if you think that this can’t be salvaged, and I’ll admit that you have a point, then we can go. Just put back on our clothes-“

“You’re the only one who took off your clothes.”

“-And get off this island for good,” he clears his throat, tries to give her a winning expression. Considering everything, and she means literally _everything_ because you can’t watch a guy kill several people and allow him to get away with shit like that afterwards, it doesn’t convince her all that much, “it’ll be easy, great, _chill_ … As long as we can actually figure out a way to escape.”

She stares at him for another second.

She _sighs_ , and spins on her heel with her arms still firmly crossed over her chest, “I’ll go get Damian, maybe _he’ll_ be able to figure a way out of this mess.”

“As long as you can drag him away from his very important fight with those monkeys!”

“ _Christ_.”

The dead Robins club, so named to deliberately give Bruce a twitch, is off to an absolutely _swimming_ start.


End file.
